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THE HARTFORD HERALD.
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HABTFORD, OHIO COUNTY, KY AUGUST 18, 1875.
J .to. P. Barrett Uo., Publishers,
For the Hartford Herald.
IT WllMAM LAJI0XT.
Lookiig for work? Tes, sir, times are io dull,
There's nothing to do, o I took to the road;
And I tried, and I tried, bat the shops are all
On half time; so I're tramped, bat I can't
Set a job.
Hard? Yes, when starvation stares one in the
And he's willing to work, and too honest to
BegT Well, that' dan with a very bad grace,
For there'i few that will giro a poor tramp
a square meal.
Tr, too, were a tramp? Well yott'll best un
derstand How quick a poor fellow gets broken in heart,
When the spirit is quenched, that would other
TTerowork amLnroir.r .Uy only Mi part.
It ll Indeed, a rough, vagabond life that I lead.
HowIongharet tramped? Six months I're
been on the road,
And, sir, in that time I've been often in need
Of something to eat, and a fire, and a bod.
Tfcaakyoo, sir. No, 1 w.n't arm it np;
It's the first cent I're handled for many a day?
And. 0 God! would I sink it in bell's blackest
That has changed to December my beautiful
I get erased when I think what that demon has
All the misery and suffering that I hare
Is all owing to when the desire first began
To taste, and oh, Heaven! how fiercely it
Till its blasting effects caused a blight on my
That time cannot heal, with its far .heating
A home, angel child, and a kind loving wife
Were mine, in the flush of my manhood's
I had steady work: I was good at my trade;
And respected by all that were good in the
Sot temptations were strong although efforts
And the Tempter's dread power soon got me
Night after night but the story is old,
And an uninteresting one, maybe, to you
Timn got hard, and a few of the workmen were
To leave; and I with the rest bad to go.
It was winter, and erery dollar was spent
At the dram-shops, and no one would gire
And tho landlord was clamoring load for his
With a thousand things else that my head
By hook and by crook we had keptthe wolf
But be entered at last, with a gaunt, hungry
And the phantom of Famine camo lingering
With a horrible visage no effort could brook
Then mr wife, uncomplaining, got sick, and I
Erery hoaranew terror in that haggard face;
Elarration was workingout nature's stern law
Yes, sir, it was truly a burning disgrace
There's no use in painting those scenes o'er
Suffice it, she died, with her babe at ber
Better for her, for a life-time of pain
That was hers, could not follow her there to
to her rest.
I was alone. The remorse of that hour
Can't be told in merely a mouthful of breath!
Abl I felt all the burning despair of its power.
And I longed for relief in the calm sleep of
But I lire, and I mourn for the joys I hare
And now, when half starred and half craiy,
Of hardships endured while through the world
Jekai curse the dark hour I was tempted to
TVs,' the nights they are cold; but I'm used to
A barn or a atrawstack affords me a bed;
Any shelter to keep the night-dew from my
And my wallet serves well for to pillow my
Kot much comfort, I tell you; but, sir, there are
When alono on some straw-pile I sorrowing
There, gating aloft, on the bright starry climes,
My soul to the loredones will silently fly,
And lored faces gleam from bright stars far
And sweet musie floats on my listening ear;
And the prattle of babes, and the sweet voire
In rapture ef raptures distinctly I htar,
And the still air is stirred by the flutter o
And a tweet, soothing roico breathes of com
fort and hope;
Then Misery's friend ber blest boon of sleep
And I roam and am happy, through dream
land's wide scope.
I often have thought, that the spirits abore,
Who were once a bright part of our joy here
gee the ru n and the wreok of an earthly lore,
n ith a pityiug sigh and a tear-drop of.woe,
If they do, then their tear-drops must fall as
And gleam in the sunshine of morning as dew.
For sweet o'er our dreams holy calms often
I,ike the calm holy moments that happiness
You didn't look for such sentiments, sir, from
a trace p? W
Well, this unshaven face and these old tat
Don't speak very plainly of intellect's lamp,
Xor is tobacco's rile stench the perfume of
You are right, sir! The world judges hastily
And appearances mostly deceive thoso that
Though ragged and tattered and sorely in need.
I know Ood has lifted me out of the dust.
Low down though I am, by a stern, hard decree.
I feel that kind Providence watches mo still;
Though a bond-slave to want, yet the mind is
As the sualight that's gilding yon far distant
have sorrows and troubles and trials that may
Beacurseandaburden for sins I have done,
But I gate through the mist of despair's dark
And behold in Ills glory Hope's bright rising
And beyond the dark vista of life's troubled
i know that the loved -ones are waiting for
A fewweary yean they will quiekly pass by
Then tho happiness lost I fhatl once again
Well, thank yoa again, sir; I're detained you
With a story of woe, bat, sir, do you think
That the miseries suffered atone for the wrong
I have done, through the influence of drink?
Millwood, Kt., August, 1875.
Till! LAWYER'S SECRET .
By MISS M. E. BRAPDOX,
AUTHOR OF AURORA TLOTD, LxDT AUDLCT'S
SECRET,' "JOH!f XARCHM03T 8 LEGACY,
"ELKAXOR'S VICTORr," "LADT LISLE,"
"DARRELL MABKHAU," KTC, ETC.
ROSACE MARGRAVE'S CONFESSION.
Life in the Faubourg St. Germain
seemed very dreary to Etlioor after the
brilliant London society to which she had
been accustomed since her marriage.
Her aunt's visiting list was very limited.
Four or fire old dowagers, who thought
that the glory of the world had departed
with the Bourbons; and that France, in
the ran of the great march ofcivilization,
was foremorst in a demoniac species of
dance, leading only to destruction and the
erection of a Dew 'guillotine upon the
Place de la Revolution; two or three el
derly but creditably preserved aristocrats
of the ancient regime, whose political
principlehad stood till ever since 1783,and
who something resembledormolu clocks
of that period; very much ornamented
and embellished, but entirely powerless
to tell the hour of the day; three or four
vcryyoung ladies, educated in convents,
and entirely uninterested in anything be
yond M. Lamartine's poetry, and the
manufacture of point lace; and one ter
rifically bearded and musta'cbioned gen
tleman, who had written a volume of
poems, entitled "Clouds and Mists," but
who had not yet been so fortunate as lo
meet with a publisher this was about
the extent of the visiting circle in the Rue
St. Dominique; and for this circle Ellinor's
aunt set apart a particular evening, on
which she was visible, in conjunction
with can sueree, rather weak coffee, and
The very first day of Ellinor's visit
happened to be the day of her aunt's re
ception, and it seemed to her as if the
tiresome hours would never wear them
selves out, or the equally tiresome guests
take their departure. She could not help
remembering how different everything
would have been had Horace Margrave
been present. How he would have fought
the battle of the tiers clat with the white-
beaded old partisans of the departed no
hlcsse; how he would have discussed and
critically analized Lamartine's odes with
the young ladies from, the convent; how
he would have flattered the vanity of the
bearded poet; and regretted the Bourbons
with the faded old dowagers. But he
was away gone out of her life, perhaps,
entirely. "I shall never see him again,"
she said; "that dear and honorable guar
dian in whose care my dead father left
The next day she went with her aunt
to the Louvre, to ecc the improvements
that had been made beneath the sway of
that new ruler, who had already began
bis work of regeneration in brick and
mortar. The pictures only wearied her;
the very coloring of the Rubens' seemed
to have lost half its glowing beauty since
she had last seen him; and Maria de Me
dici, florid and resplendent, bored her ter
ribly. Many of the recent acquisitions
she thought frightfully over-rated, and
she hurried her aunt awav from the
splendid exhibition before they had been
there half an hour. She made a few pur
chases in the Palais ltoyal; and loitered
for a little time at a milliner's, in the Rue
de I'Echelle, discussing a new bonnet,
and then declared herself thoroughly
tired out with her morning's cxertiou.
She threw herself back into the car
riage, and was very silent as they drove
home; but suddenly, as they turned
irom tue tue ue iiivoit into the open
space between the Tuil erics and the Lou
vre, they passed clone to a hackney coach,
in which a gentleman was seated, and
Ellinor, starting up, cried out "Aunt !
my guardian, Mr. Margrave t Sid you
noteeehim? He has just this moment
passed us in a hackney coach." She
pulled the check-string violently as she
spoke, and ber aunt's coachman slopped;!
but Horace Margrave was out ofieight,
and the vehicle in which he was seated
lost among the crowd of carriages of the
same description, rattling up and down
the bustling street.
"Never mind, my dear Ellinor,"' said
her aunt, as Ellinor, letting down the car
riage window, looked eagerly out; "if you
are not mistaken in the face of the per
son who passed us, and it really is Hor
ace Margrave, he is sure to call upon us
"Mistaken in my guardian's face 1 No,
indeed. But of course he will call, as you
"Yes; he will call this evening, most
likely. He knows how seldom I go
"What can have brought him to
Pans?" thought EUinof. "X know he
would rather shun me than seek me out;
for, since the coolness between himself
and my husband, he always seemed to
avoid me; so J can have nothing to do
with this visit. But surely he will call
All that evening, and all the next morn
ing, she constantly expected to hear the
lawyer's name announced, but still he did
not come. "Ue had important business
to transact yesterday, perhaps," she
thought; "and he may be employed this
morning; but in the evening he is sure to
After dinner she sat by the low wood
fire in her auut's little drawing-room,
turning over the leaves of a book she had
vainly endeavored to read, and looking
every moment at the tiny buhl clock over
the chimney; but the evening slowly
dragged itself through, and still no Hor
ace Margrave. She expected him on the
following day, but again only to be disap
pointed; and in this manner the week
passed, without her hearing any tidings
"He must have left Paris!" she thought,
VI eft Paris without once calling here to
see me. Nothing could better testify his
utter indifference," she added, bitterly,
'It was no doubt only for my father's
sake that he ever pretended any interest
in the friendless orphan girl."
The following week Ellinor went with
her aunt once or twice to the Opera, and
to two or three reunions in the Faubourg,
at whioh her handsome face and elegant
manners made some sensation; but still
no Horace Margrave ! "If he had been
in Paris, we should have seen him most
likely atfthe Opera,"' thought Ellinor,
That week elapsed, and on the Sunday
evening Ellinor Dalton sat alone in her
own room, writing a packet of letters to
some friends in England, when she was
interrupted by a summons from her aunt.
Some one wanted her in the drawing
Some one in the drawing-room, who
wanted to sec her ! Could it be her
uardian at last?
"A lady or a gentleman ?" she asked
of the servant who brought her aunts
"A lady a sister of mercy."
She hurried into the drawing-room, and
found, as the servant had told her, a sia
ter of mercy in conversation with her
"My dear Ellinor, this lady wishes you
to accompany her on a visit to a sick per
son; a person whom you know, but whose
name she is forbidden to reveal. What
can this mystery mean?"
"A sick person, who wishes to see me?"
said Ellinor. "But I know so few people
in Paris; no one likely to send for me.
"If you can trust me, madam," said
the sister of mercy, "and if you will ac
company me on my visit to tins person,
I believe your presence will be of great
service, Hie mind ol the invalid is, I re'
gret to say, in a very disturbed state, and
you only, I imagine, will be able, under
Heaven and the Church, to give relief to
"I will come," said Mrs. Dalton.
"But Ellinor " exclaimed her
"If I can be of any service, my dear
aunt, it would be most cruel, most cow
ardly, to refuse to go."
"But, my dear child, when you do not
know the person to whom you are o
"I will trust this lady," answered El
huor, 'iand I will go. I will throw on
my bonnet and shawl, and join you, mad
ame. she added to the sister of mercy, as
she hurried from the apartment.
"When these girls once get married
there s no managing them," murmured
Ellinor's aunt, as she folded her thin
white hands, bedecked with a great many
old-fashioned rings, resignedly, one over
the other. "Pray do not let them detain
her long," Blie continued aloud, to th
sister of mercy, who sat looking gravely
into the lew embers in the little English
grate. "I shall suffer the most excruci
ating anxiety till I see her safely horn
"She will be perfectly safe with rae
' ow, madame, I am quite at you
service, eaid f-lliuor, reentering the
In a few moments they were seated
in a hackney coach, and rattling through
the quiet faubourg.
Are you going far?'' asked Ellinor of
"To 'Meuricc's? Then the person I
am going to see is not a resident of
Who could it be? Not a resident of
Paris. Some one from England no doubt.
Who could it be? Husband or Horace
Margrave? These were the only two per
sons who presented themselves to her
mind; but in either case, why this mys
tery? They reached the hotel, and the sister
f mercy herself led the way up-stairs
into an enclosed hall on the third story,
where she stopped suddenly at the door
fa small sitting-room, which she en
tered, followed by Ellinor.
Two gentlemen, evidently- physicians,
.stood talking in whispers, khe" embra
sure of the window. One of them looked
up at seeing the two women'.enter, and to
him the sister of mercy said
"Your patient, Monsieur Delvillc?"
"Ue is quiter, Louise. The delirium
has subsided; be is now quite sensible;
but very much exhausted," replied the
physician. "Is this the lady?" he added,
looking at Ellinor.
"Yes, Monsieur Delville."
"Madame," eaid the doctor, "will you
favor me with a (ert moments' conversa
tion?" With pleasure, monsieur. But first,
let me implore you, one word. This sick
person, for mercy's sake, tell me his
That I cannot do, madame; his name
is unknown to me.''
"But the people in the hotel!"
"Are also ignorant of it His port
manteau has no address. He came most
probably on a flying visit; but he has been
detained here by a very alarming ill
"Then let me see him, monsieur. I
cannot endure this suspense I have
reason to suppose that this gentleman is
a friend who is very dear to me. Let me
see him, and then I shall know the
"You shall see him, madame, in ten
minutes. Monsieur Leruce,1 will you
prepare the patient for an interview with
The other doctor bowed gravely, and
openca a door leading into an inner
, . ..... .
apartment, which he entered, closing the
door carefully behind him.
"Madame." said Monsieur. Delvi
was calrtd in, only" ihreVrdayW',
. . . -3
, iu see
the person lying in the next room. My
colleague had been for some time attend
ing him through a very difficult case of
typhus fever. A few days ago the case
became still more complicated and dif
ficult, by an affection of the brain which
supervened, and Monsieur Leruce, not
feeling himself strong enough to combat
these difficulties, considered it his duty to
call in another physician. I was, there
fore, summoned. I found the case, as
my colleague bad found it, a most extra
ordinary one. There was not only phys
ical weakness to combat, but mental de
pression mental depression of so terri
ble and gloomy a character, that both
Monsieur Leruce and myself feared that
should we even succeed ip preserving the
life of the patient, we might fail in saving
"How terrible I How terrible I" said
"During the thfee days and nights in
which I have attended him," continued
the doctor, "we have not succeeded until
this evening in obtaining an interval of
consciousness; but throughout the de
lirium our patient has perpetually dwelt
upon one or two subjects, which, though
of a different character, may be by some
chain of circumstances connected into the
one source of his mental wretchedness
Throughout his wanderings one name has
been incessantly upMhis lip;."
"And that name fs"-?"
"Ellinor Dalton I"
"My own name!"
"Yes, madame.yournamecouplcd with
perpetual entreaties for pardon;forgiveness
of a great wrong a wrong done long
since and scrupulously concerted
"A wrong done I ll this is tlx person
I suspect it to be, be never, never was
any thing but the truest friend to me;
but, for pity s sake, let me see him. This
torture of suspense is killing me."
"One moment, madame. I had some
difficulty in finding you; but mentioning
everywhere the name of the lady of whom
I was in search, I fortunately happened
to make the inquiry of a friend of your
aunt's. This good, devoted Louise, here
was ready to set out immediately on her
errand of mercy, and I thought that you
might feel, perhaps, more confident iu ber
than in me."
At this moment, the door of coramuni
cation between the two apartments was
softly opened, and the other doctor en
"I have prepared the patient for your
visit, madame," he said, "but you must
guard against a shock to your own feel
ings in seeing him. Ue is very ill."
"In danger?" asked Ellinor.
"Unhappily, yea in very great dan
Throughout the brief interview with
the physician, Ellinor Dalton had said to
herself, "Whatever it is that must be
endured by me, I will bear it bravely
for his sake I will bear it bravely." Uer
handsome fact was white as death the
firm, thin lips rigidly locked over the
losely shut teeth the dark and mourn
ful gray eyes tearless and serene; but her
heart knocked against her breast so
loudly, that she seemed to hear the heavy
throb of its every pulsation in the still
ness of the room.
Uer worst presentiments were realized.
Horace Margrave lay with his head
thrown back upon the piled-up pillows,
and his attenuated hand stretched list
lessly upon the eiderdown counterpane
which was wrapped about him. His
head was bound with wet linen, over
which his nurse had tied a handkerchief
of scarlet, whose vivid hue made his
white face teem by the contrast still more-
ghastly. Ilia Iurk-brown eyes had lost
the dreamy expression usual to them,
and had the bright and feverish lustre of
disease. They were fixed, with a hag
gard and earnest gaze, upon the door
through which Ellinor entered.
"At last!" he said, with a hysterical
cry. "At last!"
She pressed her hand tightly over her
beating heart, and, falling on her knees
by bis bedside, said to htm, very quiet-1-
"Horace Horace I what is this? Why
why do'4l find you thus ?''
He fixed his great lustrous eyes upon
her, as he answered
What is it, Ellinor? Shall I tell
"Yes yes I if you can tell me without
"Unnerving myself!" he laughed, with
bitter, unnatural cadence. "Unnerve
myself look at that I" he stretched out
one thin, half transparent hand, which
trembled like an aspen leaf, until he let
fall lifelessly upon the quilt. "For
four years, Ellinor, I have been slowly
burning out my life in one long nervous
fever; and you tell me not to unnerve
He gave a restless, impatient sigh, and,
tossing his .leary head back upon the
pillow, turned his face to the wall.
Ellinor Dilton looked round the room
in which this brilliant, all-accomplished,
admired, and fascinating Horace Mar
grave had lain for eleven dreary days-
eleven painful nights.
It was a small apartment, comfortably
furnished, and heated by a stove. On
thf table by the bedside ajBook, of Hours
lay open, wiin a rosary tnrown across
the page, where the reader had left off.
Near this was an English Testament,
also lying open. The sister of mercy
who had been nursing Horace Margrave,
had procured this Testament in his own
language, in hopes that he would be in
auceu to read it. Hut the sick man.
when sensible, spoke to her in French;
and ween sue implored uira to see a
priest, refused, with an impatient gesture,
which he repeated when she spoke to him
of a Protestant clergyman whom she
knew, and could summon to him.
The dim lamp was shaded from the
eyes of the invalid by a white porcelain
screen, which subdued the light, and
cast great shadows of the furniture upon
the walls of the room.
He lay for some time quite quietly.
with his face still turned away from El
linor, but by the incessant nervous mo
tion of the hand lying upon the counter
pane, she knew that he was not asleep.
The doctor opened the door softly, and
If he says anything to you," he
whispered to Ellinor, "hear it quietly;
but do not aBk him any questions; and,
above all, do not betray agitation."
She bowed her head in assent, and the
physician closed the door.
Suddenly Horace Margrave turned his
face to her, and looking at her earnestly
with his haggard eyes, eaid
"Ellinor Dalton, you ask me what this
means. I will tell you. The very day
on which you left England, a Strang
chance led me into the heart of a manu
facturiug town a town which was being
ravaged by the fearful scourge of an in
fectious fever; I was in a very weak state
of health, and, as might be expected, I
caught this fever. I was warned, when
it was perhaps not yet too lata to have
taken precautions which might have
eaved me, but I would uot take those
precautions. I was too great a coward
to commit suicide. Some people say a
man is too brave to kill himself I was
not but I was too much a coward. Lile
was hateful, but T. was afraid to die.
Yet I would not avert a danger which
had not been my own seeking. Let the
fever kill me, if it would. Ellinor, my
wish is fast being accomplished. 1 am
'Horace! Horace!" She fell on her
knees once more at the side of the bed
and taking the thin hand in hers, pressed
it to her lips.
He drew it away as if it had been
6tung. "For Heaven's sake, Ellinor, if
you have any pity no tenderness ! That
I cannot bear. For four years you have
never seen me without a mask. I am
going to let it fall. You will curse me,
you will hate me soon, Ellinor DaltOD 1"
"Hate you, Horace never I"
He waved his hand impatiently, as if to
wave away protestations that must soon
Wait," be eaid; "you do not know."
Then, after a brief pause he continued
"Ellinor, I have not been the kindest or
the tenderest of guardians, have I, to my
beautiful young ward? You reproached
me with my cold indifference one day
soon after your marriage, in the little
drawing-room in Hertford street."
"You remember that!"
"I remember that ! Ellinor, yoa never
spoke one word to me in your life which
I do not remember; as well as the accent
in which it was spoken, and the place
where I heard it. I say, I have not been
a kind or affectionate guardian have I,
"You-were so once. Horace," she said.
"I was so once. When, Ellinor?'
"-Before my uncle left me that wretch
'That wretched fortune ys, that-di
vided us at once and forever. Ellinor,
there were two reasons for this pitiful
comedy of cold indifference. Can you
guess one of them?"
"No," she answered.
"You cannot? I affected an indiffer
ence J did not feel, or pretended an a pa
tby which was a lie from first to last, be
cause, Ellinor Dalton, I loved you with
the whole strength of my heart and soul,
from the first to the last"
"Ob, Horace 1 Horace 1 for pity's Bake I
She stretched out her hands imploringly,
as if she would prevent the utterance of
the words which seemed to break her
"Ellinor.when you were seventeen years
of age, you had no thought of succeeding
to your uncle s property. It would have
been, upon the whole, a much more nat
ural thing for bim to have left it to bis
adopted son, Henry Dalton. Your poor
father fully expected that he would do so;
expected the same. Your father in
trusted me with the custody of your little
income, and I discharged my trust lion
estly. I was a great speculator; I dab
bled with thousands, and cast down heavy
sums every day, as a gambler throws
down a card upon the gambling-table;
and to me your mother's little fortune
was so insignificant a trust, that its man
agement never eave me a moment's
thought or concern. At this time I was
going on in a fair way to become a rich
man; in fact, was a rich man; and, Elli
nor, I was an honorable man. I loved.
you loved you as I never believed
could love my innocen
Irnow coulln well be otherwise? 1
never was a coxcomb, Ellinor: and
there is onecharacter I hold more in con
tempt than another, it is that of a lady
killer; but I dared to say to my self-
love, and I am beloved again.' Those
dark and deep gray eyes, Ellinor, had
told me the secret of a young and con'
fiding heart: and I thought myself more
than happy only too deeplv blest Oh
Ellinor! Ellinor! if I had spoken then
Her head wa3 buried in her hands, as
she knelt by bis pillow, and she was sob
"There tvas time enough, I said. This
Ellinor, was the happiest period of my
life. Do you remember our auiet even
ings in the Rue St Dominique, when
left business, and business cares, behind
me in Nerulam Buildings, and ran over
here to spend a week in my young ward'i
society? Do you remember the books we
read together? Good heavens! there is a
page in Lamartine's, 'Ode?,' which I can
see before me as I speak I I can see th
lights and shadows which I taught you
to put under the cupola of a church in
Munich, which you once painted in water-
colors. I can recall every thought, every
word, every pleasure, and erery emotion
of that sweet and tranquil time, in which
I hoped and believed that you, Ellinor,
would be my wife."
Concluded next week.
From the Albany Press.
Three little golden heads at an upper
window, and a long line of carriages be
low. Nurse holds baby up, who laugh
and claps his little dimpled hands, as his
eye is caught by the nodding plumes on
me nearse; and presently the procession
moves down the street, and mother has
gone forever. The men from the under
taker's remove the traces of the funeral
the parlors arc in their wonted order,
cept, perhaps, the curtains are not looped
as gracefully, the furniture is not dis
posed as tastefully, and the littte orna
tnents and bijouterie are not in their ac
. i , .. .
cusiomea places, in mothers room
there's a chill and a prim air about ev
erything, so different from its usual look
of cozy comfort A bright June sunligli
is gleaming through the half-opened
blinds, but it does not seem to gire
warmth or cheer. The toys are brought
out, the children soon tire of them, there'
something gone by they scarce realize
what By and by baby begins to fret,
and nurse gets cross. Poor little darling!
mamma's pet! how tenderly she would
have soothed him with soft lullabys. An
then papa comes home and gathers th
little flock around his knee, and tries to
tell them something of the beautiful home
to which mamma has gone; but they
want her sadly here, they cannot think
why the good Father should want her so
Fifteen disguised men hanged Preston
H. Murphy, suspected thief , in Robertson
county, Monday night week. He's mad
For the Hartford Ileralil.
JOHNNIE ANDHIS SIXPENCE.
nr lUEr twiddle.
"Johnnie," said Mr. Gray, to h? eon.
'yoa must borrow some kindling wood
and make a good fire against your ma
and little Lizzie comes borne."
"Oh! papa," cried Johnny, 'there is not
bit ol coal in the coal-house, and tho
people will not lend us any more, because,
papa, they say you will not pay them what
you owe them now."
But, my child," said his father, "wi
mast have some fire, foryour mother ami
little Lizzie will be almost frozen, for they
have' to come a long way; and, beside,
yon rnnatnotgtTenp, bat-'try, try again.'"
Little Johnnie took up hi basket, and
started off on his journey to get some coal.
He went to the house ol one of their
nearest neighbors, and knocked on the
front door, but no answer came all waa
silent- He then stole softly round to the
back porch, where he bad once seen &
nicely dressed lady.
Johnnie peeped in at the open window.
and saw Mr. Johnson and his wife. He
knocked on the door, and some one called
out in a loud voice, "What do yoa want.
"Excuse me, please; but papa sent met
here to borrow some coal to make a fire
for my poor mother and little sister, for
they will be almost frozen when they
reach home, and we will be so glad to see
them," little Johnnie said, his eyes beam
ing with joy, for he had not seen them for
a long time.
"Begone! you little beggar! I will not
let your father have any more coal until
he pays me what he owes me."
Johnnie started off almost heart-broken.
but, remembering his father's words, 'try,
try, again,' he entered a door and ascend
ed a stairway, and in the hall above met
three young ladies.
Johnnie spoke to them very politely, and
said, "Will you please tell me where Mrs.
One of the young ladies stopped and
pointed out the room.
tWBt is the matter with yoa, Tittle
boyfuid Miss Henna, as sne iooitea ai
him and smiled.
Johnnie told his story, and she gam
him a sixpence, and told him to go and
Viiiw lAtn a .Ant wtlti it
TT?... : -j '
as he was, he knew that the other girls
were waiting outside for their companion.
"Open the door, Bertha, quick! for I am
nearly frozen. I would have let the little
beggar get his coal the best way he could,
if I had been you."
"Oh! Emma!" cried Bertha, "how can
you be'so cruel I Do yon not know the
Bible says remember the poor?"
"I know it does," said Emma, "hut I
would not do it: let him get it the best way
Johnnie went on and bought some coal
with his money. He took it home and
made a nice warm fire, and when his mo
ther came home she brought him some
nice presents, which made him forget all
about the way Mr. Johnson had treated
him about the coal; for he he was glad to
see his mother acd little sister, and he
jumped for joy.
So the little family spent a happy night
in the cottage of Mr. Gray.
I hope all who read this will be like
Miss Bertha. Remember the poor, for
the Bible says "He tbatgiveth to the poor
leudeth to the Lord."
Uiica, Kr., August 8, 1875.
Fooled Into Marrying the Wrong 3saa.
From the Pittsburg Dispatch.
An affair occurred yesterday at one of
the minor hotels in this city, which,
were it not for the rather tragic influence
it bears upon human life, would be rather
comical A certain unmarried individual
living at Saxonburg has had living in
his house, for a year or more, a buxom
German woman, with whom he waa
more intimate than either the law or the
accepted system of morality allows. A
month or so ago a child was born, and
the father promised in order to settle th
difficulty which ensued, to marry the
mother. Yesterday the two, accompa
nied by a friend, came to the city and
stopped at the hotel, which is on Water
street, not far from the Connersville
depot A Grant street magistrate was
sent for and told that he was expected
to solemnize a marriage between the wo
man, who cannot speak a word of En
glish, and the man. When the parties
stood up, the friend who had accompa
nied the two, took bis place beside the
woman, who was told that this was the
proper form to go through,, and was
married to her, while the 'Saxonburg
man stood at one side laughing at the
cheat The woman did not discover to
whom she bad been married for an hour
or two afterward, and the father of ber
child went away chuckling at the manner
in which be had escaped the consequen
ces of his previous indiscretion. What
the result will be cannot yet be told, but
the woman, yesterday afternoon, visited
several magistrates with the desire of
having the matrimonial knot untied, and
expressed great indignation at the way
she had been treated.
The marriage of a white man to a ne
gro woman nearly incited the people of
Sheffield, Mass., to a riot,